Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness
by Anniehow
Summary: Missing scene from No man's Land and spoilers up to Misbegotten. So he's helped them obliterate his Hive. Now what?


**Life, Liberty & the Pursuit of Happiness**

Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis, its characters and all related entities are the property of MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions and The SciFi Channel. No copyright infringement is intended.  
This is fan fiction and not intended for commercial profit.

Author's notes: Spoilers up to Misbegotten. Also, sadly un-betaed (would you like to adopt it?) Originally written for the "dark side challenge" over at Atlantis Flashfition on LJ.

Michael is my favourite bad guy :)

* * *

He's manning the secondary controls, gently coaxing his ship, _his Hive_, back to life, stroking the warm screen and whispering, in his mind, _I'm sorry_, when the colonel bounces up to him, jovial and relaxed over a pitiful amount of sleep.

As if he hasn't just stopped two Hives from reaching the mythical Earth. As if they hadn't all almost died. Killed two thirds of the Wraith. Condemned the rest to a life they will despise.

And Sheppard smiles, showing off his straight, pearly white teeth. " So, Michael, how's it going? "

He keeps his eyes fixated on the thin membrane, stroking it gently, feeling it warming under his touch. It is coming back online. " The systems are not fully operational yet, but we are making considerable progress. "

Sheppard nods and pokes at the membrane. He immediately withdraws with a faintly disgusted frown and wipes his hand on his vest.

_He_ keeps at his ministrations, silently sending platitudes at the offended equipment. " Please refrain yourself from ever doing that again, " he growles quietly.

" Ha! No kidding. Listen, how long before we get home? "

_Never. It was destroyed. All that remains is this weak shell, ailing and mourning for the loss of her inhabitants, her creators. _" Longer than it took us to get here. We'll have to let her rest more. She's been badly hurt. "

Sheppard looks at him, quirking his eyebrow, unable to contain a silly grin. " Her? "

" The Hive. "

He snorts in amusement, looking around. " Sure, why not. I mean, I named my first chopper too! Flew like a bucking horse but, damn, I loved it. Ah, Betty. They finally couldn't patch it up anymore, and it was grounded. But I got to start training on Blackhawks! " He shakes his head, eyes shiny with excitement.

He realizes he's never seen the Colonel so exhilarated before, and he doesn't understand it. Even if this wasn't the last voyage of his Hive, even if she could somehow recuperate enough, he's going to mourn her for the last of his life. Without her original population, her rightful owners, she will never be the same. " Why are you so happy about it? "

Sheppard hmmms back to the present, and turns on another brilliant smile. " We've just saved six billion people from a horrible death! Six billion! My people! And, since they're probably never going to hear about it, I think I'm entitled to a little boasting with the handful of those who know about it. Plus? The spoils from this battle are about as cool as they get. " He sweeps his arm around and finishes up with a solid pat to his back, which upsets his coordination and makes him dig a little too forcefully into the membrane. It's sheer dumb luck that he had it warmed up enough that it doesn't tear.

He tries to start over again, but those words haunt him. _Spoils_ is a particularly apt term, because the Hive, left into their barbarous hands, will simply die and rot, and he cannot understand how that could in any way be considered _cool_, and just the thought of it makes him slow his movements even more, forcing himself to the outmost gentleness until his hand trembles from holding back so much.

Trying to turn his thoughts to life doesn't help. Six _billion_. And only on one planet. Of a whole galaxy, containing several other inhabited planets. _Six billion_. More than enough to feed all the Wraith, in all the Hives, and tide them over to the next hibernation. Two galaxies to feed on. They could have alternated between one and the other, during hibernations, allowing the stock to grow unhindered for hundreds of generations. No more need to cull an entire planet and eliminate a feeding ground. No more civil wars. Peace. Equilibrium. And if two galaxies hold humans, maybe there is another one out there, with further feeding grounds, maybe even more. They were never going to find out now.

And colonel Sheppard is boasting about it with _him_.

He growls, frustration, anger and bile rising out of a stomach that still hasn't atrophied back to it's original form. He could easily feed on him right now, wipe that stupid, misplaced grin off his face, have the satisfaction of avenging his life, cowardly taken away by these Terrans. He's never tasted a happy human before, and he bets it would be great. But perhaps it's too late to even take that small comfort for himself. In light of everything that's happened, that he's helped them achieve, he doesn't really feel he has the right to it.

With a thoughtful frown, Sheppard digs deeper into his discomfort. " So, anyway, I… huh, wanted to thank you… you really saved my ass back there, Michael. "

He forces himself not to flinch like a human, but to keep his back straight like a real Wraith and cock his head at him.

" Oh, and, by the way, I never asked you if you actually _like_ the name Michael. If you'd tell us your real name, we could… you know… use that. "

Sheppard nods earnestly, raising his eyebrows, and it strikes him just how obtuse and self-centered these humans can be, that they can give private names away as if they mean nothing, even to objects, or animals, that they _cannot take a hint_ and understand that for a Wraith, for their… call it belief, call it religion, there is not a precise word in the trading language that translates it, for _Them_ a private name is the most precious thing, a secret passed on from parent to young, and confided only to another in the greatest respect and honor, and only to less than a few in a lifetime. To know the private name is to hold power over your fellow Wraith. These humans have taken so much from him: his life, as a learned Wraith of a certain value aboard his Hive, as a respected member of his community; his memories, lost to the shock of the terrible mutation they forced him through, his very essence, himself, his identity, his history.

And now it seems Sheppard can't help but asking for his very soul.

It is the last trace of who he really was that he has left. " You know me as Michael. That is enough. "

Sheppard shrugs, accepting this, forever unable to comprehend.

Now _he_ wants to ask something, but he's already guessed the answer, and he dreads it. All he's done so far, however, including his most cowardly treachery, he's done it to continue living, one way or the other. _He must know._ " Colonel? What will happen to me now? "

" Well, you've rendered a great service to us, and we appreciate that. We don't forget our friends. "

And he winks.

His blood runs colder. For the first time ever, he truly envies an aspect of humanity the Wraith don't posses: he wishes he could kill himself. It would be easy, even here, even now, all he'd have to do is find Ronon, approach him and growl. He'd be dead before taking a second breath, quick, painless and, in a human perspective, honorable. But in his mind, it would still be a senseless killing, and if there is one thing the Wraith despise it's a waste of life. One of their major sins is, in fact, killing a human without feeding off it. Quelling their hunger, living at all cost no matter how much their existence has become hateful, even compared to death, is virtue to _Them_.

" We'll have to discuss the details with Dr. Weir, but I'm sure we'll figure something out. "

_They will turn me into a human. They will never let me truly feed ever again._

And, despite facing his greatest fear, his mind turns back to a conversation he had back when he had been Lt. Kenmore, in Atlantis, recovering from a mysterious brain-wash the wraith had subjected him to, morosely picking at his meal in the mess hall. A young scientist, who had told him she was Japanese, had approached him and lectured him for ten solid minutes on the evils of eating meat, pointing at his stake and telling him that by the amount of blood pooling on his plate she could tell the animal had died in absolute terror, and if he thought it was right to exploit animals like that when they could easily live off vegetables. From somewhere in the vestiges of his mind he had recalled what little he had learned of human development and farming, and had replied that humans needed proteins to grow healthy. Before she could launch into a second lecture to dispossess him of that notion, Sheppard had stepped up and told her to leave him alone, that he was from Texas after all. In hindsight, she had either been really brave or a plant. The only thing she achieved anyway was leaving him with a vague sense of nausea, and the feeling that dead and charred meat was not so appetizing after all. He's seen them rip meat right off the bone with their white teeth, and he finds it primitive and barbaric, especially considering the clean, efficient and much more dignified Wraith feeding process.

He still doesn't understand how they could think that being knocked down a peg in the food chain and back to a less advanced life form would benefit him, that he would be happy to shed half of himself to become something that has to rely on spoken words to communicate. He doesn't see them quite so eager to turn themselves into- what was it she had called them?- cows. And yet…

" I do not wish to become a human again, " he states, because he knows that's what awaits him in Atlantis, but he still tries, because they also told him Honor is very important to them, and because he wants to believe that helping them of his own volition will mean something, have some leverage. The risk of refusing to comply, he knows, is for them to take away his choice and stun him, strap him to a bed and release him only after ten hours of torture. He's already been through it, he's witnessed it, and he's fearing it more than anything else right now, but he hopes he can appeal to what they call their higher morals.

" You'd be better off, trust me. " Assures him Sheppard, " you can start a new life: charte blanche. Granted, that's French, but… "

He stares. _So… forgetting myself is a… plus?_

" Texas is a nice place, you know, " continues Sheppard, picking up a new thread. " It's, hum, in the United States. Great country. " He smiles fondly. " I come from there too, you know. West of Texas. It's called California. "

He keeps staring, aware that in this light his eyes are gleaming yellow. He's not sure why he's being told this. It's not as if he'll ever visit it.

Sheppard plunges on, undaunted. " It's a… union of different states, hence the name, "United States of America". Ah, America is the continent it's on. Anyway, my point is, all the states are different, but we've found a way to live together, in peace. "

He doesn't answer. He still doesn't understand where this is going. _So many meaningless names…_

" See, in a democracy, everybody can speak up to defend their rights. And we have some constitutional rights, like "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness". Everyone's entitled to that. Maybe, now that your queen is dead, you could think about living as a democracy. We can even find you a nice little planet you can call your own. "

_And what, live as a democracy of one?_ It sounds like a deeply inefficient form of government for a large community, especially in times of war. With their queen, _his Queen_, everything was simpler. Not anymore.

" And you live by these rights? In Atlantis? "

" Yes, " Sheppard answers firmly.

He's convincing, but _he_ knows he's lying. " And I would… be entitled to these same rights? "

" Yeah, sure, if you live in a democracy you would. We can help you setting up that. We're good at that sort of thing. " He nods to himself, as if he's the one making the decision. It occurs to _him_ that maybe he is. " We'll figure something out. " He adds, before clapping him on the shoulder again and moving on.

He wonders at his familiarity.

Maybe they _will_ let him choose for himself, after all.

Maybe they will let him have the right to his own life _his identity_, keep his liberty _on my own from now on, I can live on and off a small transport vessel, the Hive is full of them_, and to pursue his own happiness, or at least a semblance of it _a single Wraith doesn't need to feed that often, a healthy adult is sustaining enough for months, I can get them off several planets, they can't complain about it, right?_

He's still regaining hope when Dr McKay comes to find him, asking him to come to the central control room.

" We can't fly this thing without you, " he states seriously, as if _he_ didn't know this before.

" Of course. It's the neural interface. Only a Wraith can operate the controls. "

Unexpectedly, Dr McKay lights up at this and starts snapping his fingers. " Yes, yes, of course! Like Lantian technology! Only those with the gene can use it. It's the same thing, " he exclaims, words tumbling over each other.

He only stares at him.

_No, it is not the same thing._

Lantian technology is only metal and crystals, it is dead. A Hive is a living creature. He is not sure if these humans can't understand _them_ or if they simply don't want to. He thought they were intelligent enough, but maybe he was wrong.

The console he was working on has grown cold under his conflicting thoughts and is slumbering once again, so he follows McKay back to the main control room. Right now they only need navigation anyway. And when they get to Atlantis… he hopes they understand that his giving up his own Hive doesn't mean he wants to help them murder all the Wraith and leave him the last of his own kind.

If not, then he will have to have a back up plan ready.

When they reach the room, Teyla is there.

She befriended him as a human, or at least she thought she did _she captured me the first time_, but every time she has laid eyes on his true self since then, it has been with an air of repulsion _like my Queen, am I nothing to her but an unclean thing?_.She gives him a nod of acknowledgment, and he nods back. He wonders, when she looks at him that way, what is it she really sees.

The star map comes on immediately and he can see they have veered slightly off-course. It's going to be a long journey, and he's going to have to do all the piloting on his own now. He asks the map to calculate the compensation to get back on track and to relay it to him, along with highlighting their final destination: Atlantis.

_A long journey… for now, all I can do is wait. _

_And hope._

The end


End file.
